


and sometimes the world is small

by windymoors



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Communication, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Cuddling, Dom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Gentle Dom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Light Dom/sub, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Non-Sexual Submission, Sub Crowley (Good Omens), Trust, hair petting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:26:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28572237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windymoors/pseuds/windymoors
Summary: Crowley sighed. “Could you...could we do the thing where you’re in control of everything and I let you be? Might convince my brain to stop telling me there’s something I need to fix.”Aziraphale hummed consideringly. Crowley waited. This particular game only worked when they were both in the mood to do it, and he was perfectly willing to let Aziraphale ponder that for a little while.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 118





	and sometimes the world is small

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this some months ago, with the encouragement of friends. Without that encouragement, I can say fairly certainly that this would never have been written. Once I finished it, I edited it. And then left it in my drafts for months, unsure of whether I wanted to post it. 
> 
> Recently I pulled it out again, determined to share this lovely, soft piece with you all at last. A few more edits brought me to what you see here. I hope that you enjoy.

Crowley was having a bad day. There was no concrete _reason_ for it being a bad day, but he’d woken up grumpy and it had only gotten worse from there. His first attempt at feeling better had been to spend time grouching at his plants. Unfortunately, he’d gotten out of the habit of yelling and threatening them in the few years since the world didn’t end, and complaining at them just didn’t feel the same.

When the plants didn’t help, he’d made for the Bentley, in the hopes of driving fast enough to leave behind the cloud of his bad mood. It was no coincidence that this plan helped him avoid accidentally snapping at Aziraphale, by dint of not being _with_ Aziraphale.

Driving helped. Unfortunately, as the grouchiness dissipated, it was replaced with a familiar and very unwelcome feeling of anxious unsettledness. He drove around a while longer, but the feeling grew and he turned toward the bookshop.

Parking in his usual spot, he made a beeline for the door. Said door opened without a fuss, despite the “CLOSED” sign on the inside. The bookshop door was never locked when Crowley tried to open it.

Inside the shop was quiet. Crowley paused to figure out where Aziraphale was, then headed toward the angel’s steady presence. He found Aziraphale reading in one of his tucked-away chairs, under one of the artfully dingy windows. Aziraphale didn’t look up as Crowley approached, which was standard for times when he was deep in a good book. It did very little, however, to steady Crowley’s mood.

Granted, some of the anxiety was dissipating at seeing Aziraphale safe and happy. They’d been free for almost three years now, but a part of Crowley was always waiting for something to go wrong. Three years of peace was nothing in the face of the six thousand he’d spent believing he would never get a happy ending.

Well, Aziraphale was busy. Crowley turned and stalked back into the shelves. He paced up and down a few rows, knowing that if his mood wasn’t going to improve he should go outside to take it out on something that wasn’t the bookshop and not quite being willing to leave.

He kicked an empty box, keeping the kick gentle — it may have been only an empty cardboard box, but it was still part of the bookshop — and was surprised to find that he felt a tiny bit better. He kicked it again, a light tap that pushed the cardboard a few centimeters along the floor. Then again.

“Crowley?”

Crowley jumped, almost fumbling his twenty-third gentle kick. “Yeah?”

“What’s wrong?”

He turned to face Aziraphale and shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me, Crowley.” Aziraphale’s expression was kind, and gentle, and open.

“Just having a bad day,” Crowley admitted. “No good reason for it.”

“Ah. One of those.” Aziraphale smiled understandingly. “Would you like a hug?”

It occurred to Crowley that he _would_ like a hug, very much. He nodded and walked over to lean against Aziraphale’s chest. Aziraphale’s arms came up and wrapped around him, soft and strong and calming. Crowley sighed softly.

“Better?” Aziraphale spoke quietly, but he was so close that Crowley could almost feel the sound.

“Some,” he mumbled, not pulling away.

“Is there something else I can do? If only to protect the innocent pedestrians of London from your terrifying driving?”

There was a laugh in Aziraphale’s voice, and Crowley started to smile. Of course Aziraphale knew what one of his go-to methods of getting his feelings out was. Standing here with Aziraphale, though, a better one came to mind. Unfortunately, it would require him asking for it, with _words_ , and despite the practice he’d been putting in, he still wasn’t good at that.

“You clearly have something on your mind,” Aziraphale said. “What is it?”

Crowley sighed. “I was thinking about your question. Could you...could we do the thing where you’re in control of everything and I let you be? Might convince my brain to stop telling me there’s something I need to fix.”

Aziraphale hummed consideringly. Crowley waited. This particular game only worked when they were both in the mood to do it, and he was perfectly willing to let Aziraphale ponder that for a little while.

After a minute Aziraphale said, “All right. What’s our safeword?”

“Dolphin,” Crowley said, like he always did.

The first time Aziraphale had suggested a safeword, back when they were first experimenting with this, Crowley had questioned why they would need one. They weren’t doing anything very complicated, and it seemed easy enough to explain that they were done when they were done. Aziraphale argued that sometimes it was difficult to explain things out loud and that it was very important to not have such issues when it came to consent. A safeword, he said, was a good way to be sure that they would never end up stuck doing something they didn’t want to, even if they couldn’t come up with words to say so. Crowley, for his part, had been convinced by the time Aziraphale got to “difficult to explain things out loud”. So they had a safeword.

“Good,” Aziraphale said now, and slid one of his hands up to cup the back of Crowley’s neck.

Crowley shivered and dropped his forehead onto Aziraphale’s shoulder. Yes, this was good. Grounding and calming and safe and a gentle reminder that Aziraphale was in charge now. He would never do something Crowley was unhappy with, obviously, and Crowley could redirect things if he really needed to, but the reminder was still there.

Besides, he’d never needed to.

“Oh, this _does_ seem like a good choice for today,” Aziraphale said, sounding pleased.

Crowley laughed a little, already feeling better from the proximity to Aziraphale and the prospect of a quiet afternoon to settle into.

Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s hair and rubbed a thumb across the back of his neck. “I think I am going to make myself some tea, and then I might sit and read a bit more. Does that sound good to you?”

 _Tell me what you want,_ he was saying. _Tell me if you need something more interactive. Help me take care of you._

Crowley gave the matter due consideration. He thought about sitting nearby while Aziraphale read, knowing that the angel’s attention was mostly on him, not the book. Something that didn’t require lots of interaction, but still involved being together.

“Yeah,” he said. “Sounds good.”

“All right.” Aziraphale stepped back, and Crowley reluctantly straightened up to support his own weight again. Aziraphale let one of his hands slide down Crowley’s arm as they parted, and lightly looped his fingers around Crowley’s wrist.

“Come along, then,” he said, and started toward the kitchen with a gentle tug on Crowley’s wrist. Crowley was perfectly capable of following Aziraphale to the kitchen, of course, but this was part of the game he had asked for, and it made something inside him feel warm and a little fuzzy.

Crowley had spent thousands and thousands of years as an agent of Hell. Few people messed with him, partly because he never spent enough time there to get caught up in hierarchy games. The bigger reason, though, was that Crowley was very, very good at being independent and powerful. Independent and powerful enough to be too much trouble for most people to go up against. Crowley was on alert and in control all the time, because being otherwise was dangerous.

He’d been getting better at relaxing in the time since Armaggeddon was called off. He had yet to walk down the street without automatically keeping an eye out for potential danger, but he also wasn’t convinced that that was a habit that would be wise to break. The closest he ever got to truly going off alert was the times when he did this, gave control of everything to Aziraphale and trusted him to watch both their backs.

Aziraphale kept up the steady pace until they reached the kitchen, then paused and looked around. He opened his mouth, and Crowley could tell that there were words on the tip of his tongue, but all he said was, “Wait here,” before moving back the way they’d come.

Aziraphale, Crowley knew, had spent the same thousands of years Crowley had spent working for Hell working for Heaven. And where the best way to stay out of trouble in Hell was to be too strong to mess with, in Heaven it was very nearly the opposite. Aziraphale had survived by staying out of the way and never seeming too sure of himself.

Crowley often saw those habits in Aziraphale, though rarely as strongly as when they did this. Aziraphale said he liked the role, though, and Crowley believed him. In a way, some of the enjoyment of this game came from actively stepping outside of their long-established survival habits and trusting each other to make that a safe thing to do.

Aziraphale came back into the room carrying one of the end cushions from the sofa and a small blue drawstring bag. He smiled at Crowley, who was leaning against the wall just inside the doorway, and set the cushion down on the floor at the juncture of the wall and the counter.

“You come over here,” he said, “and settle down on this while I make the tea, all right?”

And yes, that was very all right, the idea of curling up on the floor, out of the way but far from forgotten, letting himself slip into the mindset where the only thing he had to pay attention to was doing what Aziraphale asked, and knowing that wouldn’t be much. Crowley wasted no time moving to where Aziraphale was standing.

Aziraphale opened the bag and brought the contents out. Crowley knew what was coming, but he still felt a stab of happy surprise when he saw the narrow braided bracelet Aziraphale was holding. Each of its three strands was different; one black, one red, and one a very specific tartan. Simple. Small. And one of the most meaningful objects Crowley had.

Crowley held his hand out and Aziraphale clasped the bracelet around his wrist. It fit as though it had been made for him, as it of course had. He ran his fingers over the band, then reached out and squeezed Aziraphale’s hand. A silent _thank you._

Aziraphale squeezed back, the look on his face suggesting that he knew just what Crowley was saying, then let go. “Go on, now.”

Crowley went, folding himself to the ground and into a half-kneel on the cushion, letting his lower legs go out to one side and leaning against the cupboard on the other. He tipped his head up to look at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale was smiling fondly down at him. “Glasses?” he asked.

“Mm,” Crowley said, realizing he was still wearing them. “You can take them off.”

Aziraphale reached out and gently drew the sunglasses off Crowley’s face, folding the arms in and placing them on the counter. He ran a hand through Crowley’s hair, then stroked a thumb down his forehead and nose. Crowley’s eyes closed automatically, and he could almost _hear_ Aziraphale’s smile. He opened them again, attempting a playful glare.

“You are lovely, my dear.” Aziraphale bent down and kissed Crowley’s forehead. “Let me know if you need anything.”

He moved off toward the kettle, and Crowley sighed shakily. Aziraphale had been complimenting him more and more over the past few years, but something about this dynamic made him even freer with them. Crowley typically deflected the compliments out of habit, or gave a mumbled “thanks”, but one of their agreements was that he couldn’t do that in this context. Unfortunately, that meant he usually forgot how to speak, curled in on himself to try to make the emotions stop attacking him, or something equally undignified.

He watched as Aziraphale moved around the kitchen, getting out the tea, setting the water to boil, opening a tin of biscuits. It was nice to be there, knowing that Aziraphale was both aware of and welcomed his presence, and knowing just as well that he didn’t expect Crowley to be doing anything.

“Crowley?”

He looked around. Aziraphale was now standing in front of him with a teapot in one hand and a plate of biscuits in the other. “Yeah?”

“Let’s go sit elsewhere, all right?”

“Okay.” Crowley levered his feet under him and stood up. “Go ahead.”

Aziraphale went for the sofa, set his burden on the side table, and moved another cushion to the floor.

“You’d think you were trying to scatter the sofa cushions all over the place,” Crowley commented.

“Irrepressible snake,” Aziraphale retorted affectionately. “Come here and hush.”

“Who said _you_ get to tell me what to do?” Crowley snarked, but he moved to stand by Aziraphale.

“You did,” Aziraphale said lightly. “Now settle down.” He grasped Crowley’s wrist again and tugged downward.

Crowley debated coming up with another smart comment, but none were readily coming to mind, and Aziraphale _had_ told him to hush. So instead he let his legs go out and landed on the conveniently placed sofa cushion with a soft _thump_.

“There you are,” Aziraphale said approvingly. He sat down on the sofa in a considerably more controlled fashion, choosing a spot that was so close to Crowley’s spot on the floor that his calves brushed Crowley’s side. Crowley nearly whined when Aziraphale looped fingers into his hair and pulled gently, clearly suggesting that Crowley could rest his head against Aziraphale’s knee.

That was apparently a suggestion that Crowley was entirely in favor of, and he followed Aziraphale’s hand willingly, resting his cheek on Aziraphale’s leg and letting his eyes half-close. After a moment he wound his arm around the angel’s leg as well, so that it wasn’t awkwardly caught between them.

“Is there anything you’d like me to know?” Aziraphale asked after they were settled.

Crowley half-fuzzily contemplated this question. It was a good one, giving him an opening to mention anything from what his mood was about to whether his position was comfortable. Today, though, he couldn’t come up with anything. “Don’t think so,” he murmured.

“Tell me if that changes.”

“Mkay.”

There was a laugh in Aziraphale’s voice as he said, “I take it I’m not going to be getting full sentences out of you any time soon?”

“Mm,” Crowley agreed, having decided that, unless he had something important to say, words were another of the things Aziraphale was going to need to take care of for now.

Now Aziraphale did laugh, a low, affectionate sound that settled over Crowley like a warm afternoon in the sun. The hand on Crowley’s head started to move, gently stroking his hair. Crowley made a grumbly noise and pushed his head into Aziraphale’s palm. The angel obligingly added more weight to the pets, and Crowley let his eyes close all the way, relaxing into the contact. He heard the sound of a book being opened and pages turning to wherever Aziraphale wanted to start reading today.

Aziraphale’s hand slid down Crowley’s neck again, keeping the pressure impressively even for someone who was ostensibly reading. It settled a hair above where neck widened into shoulders and squeezed, just a tiny bit. Crowley whimpered in spite of himself, and squeezed Aziraphale’s leg in return.

The weight on his neck lightened noticeably, but didn’t go away. “All right, love?”

“Mhm,” Crowley replied quickly. Then, because he did _try_ to respond to important questions with words, he added, “Don’t stop.”

Aziraphale’s hand swept back up to his hair and began to repeat the process. Crowley felt his grip on time go fluid and let it go, washing away until all that was left was Aziraphale and the occasional sound of turning pages. Aziraphale would take care of things. Crowley could take a break for now.

~

He didn’t sleep, not quite. He definitely spent a significant amount of time not moving, but he was always aware of his surroundings.

Some of them, anyway.

Well, Aziraphale. He was aware of Aziraphale.

Now he was floating back up toward consciousness, away from wherever he’d been — not asleep, just...still. Quiet. Unbothered. It was okay that he was noticing more things again. He didn’t have to pay attention to any of them that he didn’t want to. He didn’t have to do anything. He could stay here as long as he wanted.

At some point Aziraphale’s hand had stopped moving, and was now resting on the side of Crowley’s head, sandwiching him between Aziraphale’s hand and leg. It was nice. Crowley hummed a little, not bothering to open his eyes.

Aziraphale’s thumb stroked across Crowley’s forehead. “Are you back, dear?”

“Kinda,” Crowley mumbled, still not moving.

“Take your time.”

It was a reminder, and permission, and reassurance. _Take your time_ also meant _don’t worry about me_ and _remember not to rush yourself_ and _do what’s best for you._ A reminder that Crowley wished he didn’t need, but was glad to get all the same.

He finally moved, turning his head a few centimeters so his nose was brushing Aziraphale’s knee, and sighed softly. He felt Aziraphale brush hair out of his face, then smooth a hand over his head one more time until it came to rest on his shoulder, freeing his head to move if he so chose.

He did not so choose, at least not immediately. He did shift his grip on Aziraphale’s leg, giving it a comfortable squeeze, and, after a moment, opened his eyes. The room was dim, but still bright enough to shock his eyes at first. Besides the light, nothing had changed from when he closed them, which was to be expected. That was all right, then.

He sighed again and finally did lift his head, loosening his arms enough to turn and look up at Aziraphale. Aziraphale expertly placed a bookmark between the pages without having to lift his hand from Crowley’s shoulder, and set the book aside.

“Hi,” Crowley said, somewhat muzzily.

“Hello, love,” Aziraphale replied. “How are you doing?”

Crowley considered this. “‘M a little fuzzy still. Overall good.”

“Fuzzy is fine,” Aziraphale said. He reached over and poured a cup of tea, passing it down to Crowley. Crowley unwound a hand and took it, taking a swallow. He closed his eyes again and exhaled slowly, then took another sip.

When he’d finished the cup, he passed it back to Aziraphale and dropped his cheek against the angel’s leg again. “Think I might be done,” he said. “I’m not in a very thinking mood, though. Might fall asleep at some point.”

“Would you like to come up here on the sofa, then?” Aziraphale asked.

Words were still a little hard to come by, so Crowley chose to answer this by shifting his feet under him and rising to curl up next to Aziraphale. Aziraphale settled an arm around his shoulders and pressed a kiss to his hair. Crowley closed his eyes again.

“Now, no falling asleep yet,” Aziraphale chastised gently. “Unless you changed your mind about being done?”

Crowley reluctantly opened his eyes again. “No,” he said, only a little regretfully.

“All right, then,” Aziraphale said. “Now I _am_ going to ask this. What brought this on today? You weren’t just looking to have fun when you made this request, you were escaping something. What was it?”

Crowley sighed and pressed himself closer to Aziraphale. “Nothing specific. Just woke up out of sorts, and instead of going away it started being random anxiety, and I knew this would break the cycle.”

“Did it?”

“Yeah. What about you?”

Aziraphale turned a little so he could wrap both arms around Crowley. “I can’t think of anything. I might have had a little trouble making the shift so quickly at the start, but that’s nothing we need to change. Just natural adjustment time.” He squeezed a little. “You were perfect. I’m so proud of you for asking for what you wanted and considering everything before you did it.”

“Mmph,” Crowley said, burying his face in Aziraphale’s arm.

“So very proud,” Aziraphale repeated.

 _“Aziraphale,”_ Crowley complained.

Aziraphale made a vaguely smug noise and let one of his hands run down Crowley’s arm to press the bracelet into his wrist. It was a reminder that right now he didn’t get to escape compliments. It was also a reminder that he could always change that, if he wanted to.

Crowley huffed and didn’t say anything. Aziraphale kissed his ear. “I love you, beautiful demon,” he murmured.

“Love you too,” Crowley mumbled.

They stayed like that, still and quiet and close, for several more minutes. Then Crowley extricated his arm — the one with the bracelet — and held it in front of them. A request.

“Shall I take it off?” Aziraphale asked.

“Yeah,” Crowley said. He sat up as Aziraphale shifted, and turned so that they could face each other. Aziraphale gently unclasped the bracelet and ran a finger over where it had been. Then he turned and carefully stowed the bracelet in its bag, now sitting on the side table with the books. As he turned back, Crowley slung an arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders and leaned forward to kiss him.

When they pulled back, Crowley whispered, “Thanks.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said. “I am constantly in awe of how much you give me.”

Crowley could grumble about that now, deflect and downplay it.

He didn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment if you enjoyed! I have been (and intermittently still am) very unsure of whether to share this piece, so external validation would be really wonderful. Regardless, thank you for reading. :)


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